


Inquisitor, Unfiltered

by ead13



Series: Carta Thug, Surfacer Trash, and/or Andraste's Herald [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Cadash swears a lot internally, Cadash's take on everything, F/M, Inquisitor starts off emotionally stunted, Past Abuse, Self-Discovery, experiments in first person, jumps around the timeline, this is probably more for me than for you but I hope you enjoy it anyways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: I saw a list of 100 one-word prompts and thought it would be fun to play around with. An exercise in seeing the events of the Inquisition directly through my Inquisitor's eyes in no particular chronological order. Everyone thinks they know the Inquisitor, but let's just say Josie's got her hands full keeping up a decent image for a Herald who lacks any kind of tact... The real Cadash is something altogether different than the piece of propaganda they create.





	1. Beginnings

I awoke in a dungeon. My head was foggy, each thought like trying to run through water, but I was pretty sure that’s what this place was: flickering torch-light against the deep gloom of darkness and the profound, dank smell that filled my nostrils. That’d be a first; I’d always known if I got caught in my line of work there’d be no one to bail me out, so I just never got caught. Sure, a couple close scrapes (I’ve got the scars to prove it), but this completely ruined my track record. How the hell did I…

The sight of several guards pointing the blades of their swords at me as I knelt on the cold stone floor was enough to jolt me awake. My mind raced now as the adrenaline pushed back all the fog, quickly realizing my hands were shackled before me. If they didn’t bother to frisk me, there might be a chance I still had a lock pick stashed in my boot… 

The thought didn’t do me much good at the current moment, seeing as every eye was trained on me. Why? What did I do to warrant this kind of reaction? Certainly getting caught spying on their little conclave wouldn’t earn the kind of hatred that burned in their eyes, mouths turned in bitter snarls. All right, I admit, I was a bit frightened by that. I get a lot of contempt as a Carta agent, but no one outright HATES a lyrium smuggler. 

And just then, like a storm incarnate, the Seeker burst into the room in full armor. Imposing, I’ll give her that. She had the same ugly look as the rest. I was guilty of whatever it was they thought I did, regardless of whether it was true or not. Perhaps the only thing that kept her from striking me was the quieter woman with flame-red hair that accompanied her. Still, she screamed at me, demanded answers. Why the explosion? Why was everyone dead? What did I do, and what was the mark on my hand? Wait, the mark on my… I looked down and for the first time, noticed a sickly green glow coming from my left palm. My eyes widened. What the hell happened to me, and even scarier, why didn’t I remember something like that? All I could do was claim ignorance, which pissed me off. It wasn’t as if she was going to believe me any time soon…

Finally, the second woman reminded the Seeker that I was needed. Apparently that…thing…on my hand, it might be the key to stopping whatever disaster had caused this explosion at the conclave. The Seeker had to grudgingly accept this. I was dragged to my feet and hauled up the stairs and through the Chantry (hmph, typical, a prison inside a Chantry!) until we exited the main doors. Immediately, my eyes were drawn skywards, and the same sickly green light swirled in a vortex in the heavens. Just then it flickered, causing a rush of pain to rip through my entire arm. Catching me unaware, an agonized yelp escaped me and sent me falling to my knees. THAT, she informed me, was what I was tasked with stopping. As if I had a choice… I told her exactly that, and her disapproval was evident. What, did she expect me to be all forgiving and helpful after their treatment of me?

Grudgingly, she released me from my shackles so I could properly take care of business. I could have ran. I’m good at dodging and sneaking and escaping. But this freaky thing on my hand, clearly the work of some evil magic, wouldn’t go away if I did that; no one I could run to would be able to help. The Carta doesn’t exactly specialize in magic, after all, they just haul around the raw material for it… And call it a hunch, but the way the pain pulsed in my entire limb, it just felt like it could swallow me whole and kill me. The Seeker had also predicted as much. Running would mean certain death.

There was certainly that, but also, as this Seeker led me through the town, I could feel the eyes of every person rest on me, filled with the same hate the soldiers had had. “They’ve already decided your guilt,” the Seeker explained brusquely, hurrying me past the angry crowds. “They need it.” She preceded to explain just how much this conclave had meant and why everyone was devastated, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about how much I hated being paraded around by this volatile bitch, but it was clear if I stepped away from the Seeker, I’d be the victim of the lynch mob waiting to happen. Like it or not, she was the only thing standing between me and the countless number of them, each filled with bloodlust. All I could do now was swallow my pride and try not to get killed.

Little did I know where the path I started on would take me by the end.


	2. Love

I don’t deserve love. It took me forever to break myself of that thought, this creed that had taken hold of my existence thanks to my shitty upbringing in the Carta. I’m ugly. I’m worthless. All I’m good for is doing my job, and no one cares what I have to say. Even when I was thrown into the role of Inquisitor, with everyone coming to me for advice, my beliefs never changed. I was still just doing my job, albeit a much more important one, and no one cared about me for who I actually was. How could they, when I couldn’t even find it within myself to care for myself? Who the hell was I anyway?

The best thing about Thom is that he understands this so well. I hate it when people pretend to sympathize when they don’t know shit about it. Thom though, he’s thought all the same things about himself, and now when he tells me what he loves about me, I can’t help but believe there may be some truth to it. Flip our roles and nothing would change; we’d both hate ourselves, love the other, and finally be able to love ourselves just a fraction of a bit. And I know there is nothing he is trying to get by lying to me. Hell, I could tell him I’d never sleep with him again and I know he’d accept it and continue to care about me like a loyal dog. He may be a mongrel, but he’s mine, and I am his. 

He’s starved for love the same way I am. Showing him even the most basic kindness made him fall hard for me, like I had thrown that dog a scrap from the table. It was me though that decided to make him my shadow, always bringing him along to watch my back. Who could I trust more? It later turned out trust was not quite the word to assign to our relationship, but in time everything worked itself out. No, that’s wrong. Things didn’t work out, things fell into place more than they ever could have otherwise. It may have hurt like a bitch at the time, but what was left was just that ugly, worthless coal turning to a fine diamond.

And now I’m wearing that diamond on my ring finger.

Maybe I still doubt some days that I deserve love, but I never doubt anymore that I deserve his. That’s the kind of love that we can expect out of life. This isn’t a fairytale with prince charmings and fair damsels and beautiful courtship followed by happily ever afters, nor would I want it to be. Those aren’t the kinds of loves that last. This is real, and I’ve never been happier. 

When he catches my eye as I watch him fitting the pieces of the cradle together and smiles that humble, grateful smile of his, I still get butterflies.


	3. Hate

You’d think I would have felt this feeling of hate before, given the way my life had gone up to this point. But people say it so often about even the littlest things that surely it can’t mean what I know it means in the textbooks. Maybe I have felt it then…

I asked Sera about it, one night around the campfire when I truly felt there was something broken inside of me. After all, shouldn’t I hate Corypheus or his followers after watching them corrupt the Templars? If she was surprised that Cadash was getting all philosophical, she didn’t show it. She just launched into an impassioned spiel about how hate feels like being empty and spilling out at the same time, like your insides are shaking and rage radiates off you like a fog. You wish you could smite this blighter where they stand because they are a complete piece of shite in every way and the world would be better off without ‘em. Then she asked me if I was sure I’d never felt that before, because that was really hard to believe.

After her explanation, I guess I knew for sure I’ve never felt hate. When I think of Corypheus, I don’t feel hate because he’s just a monster, like some force of nature gone crazy. He’s the big bad, more like an idea than an actual, hate-able person. And his followers, while I should hate them too, pretty much just played off of the already corrupt Templars, like bad things happening to bad people. Barris was a good guy who got caught in the middle of it, and I did feel sorry for him but… Wanting to assassinate the empress to topple the Orlesian Empire? Nothing new there. And creating a demon army just sounds so farfetched they’re probably going to need an insanity plea in court!

But wait, I might need my own insanity plea, because I should hate my ex-boss too but I don’t feel anything. He used me as a tool, abandoned me whenever I got in trouble, had his way with me whenever he felt so inclined, broke my will to disobey…

And then it hit me. That was it. That was the problem. It wasn’t weird for me to lack hate because I just plain hadn’t been allowed to feel for most of my life. It had been the same for joy too. People were initially put off by my lack of reactions to things most people considered normal in day to day life. I knew how to act in specific situations, I had been trained for that, but things like joy or sadness or anger did not come naturally to me. I can’t hate my boss because there was literally nothing being felt for that duration of my life. Even now I’m only starting to grow into it, and as much as I hate to think about it, that makes me an awful lot like that weird spirit-boy, Cole.

When I tell Sera, she actually goes quiet for a moment. “That’s okay, Malika, I’ll hate their guts enough for the both of us. But, I wanna know if and when that feeling ever kicks in for you.” Then, she shivers. “Fuck, I don’t wanna know what it would take to make you that angry…”

Not long after, we met Erimond and cleaned up his mess at Adamant. When he stood trial, sneering up at me under that hideous moustache and half-shaven face, spewing insults to the Wardens killed thanks to his treachery and glory to Corypheus who would reward him, I felt it stir just as Sera described. This flicker was only fanned into a flame when I saw the look on Blackwall’s face, who had been devastated by the way his noble order had been deceived and manipulated. Pain. Erimond hadn’t just hurt people, but people that were important to me. More than that, the memory of Hawke reappeared. I hadn’t cared much for him, but it was still the first time since this whole Inquisition business began that I’d lost a colleague. And all that bastard did after everything was sneer at me in front of a whole audience.

For the first time I condemned a man to death. That was what hate truly was.


	4. Dark

I live in the dark. I’m a rogue, the darkness keeps you hidden. When you are breaking in and stealing things for your Carta branch, you do it on a moonless night. When you pick pockets, you hide your face, grab the goods, and melt back into shadow.

But the dark doesn’t stop there. Not for me.

The dark is in my heart. 

Sometimes people compare me to Varric. Besides the cringe-worthy observation that we are both dwarves (brilliant observation, geniuses), we have our crass humor, roguish tendencies, and love for a good drink, I’ll give them that. But those people clearly are unable to look inside, because if they could they’d see that Varric hasn’t got the darkness there. Yeah, he’s certainly had his share of problems, betrayals upon betrayals and all that, but it hasn’t…oh, how can you even explain…

Varric knows how to smile and mean it. Varric has had friends to support him. Varric doesn’t lack for money and has never had to scrape together enough to survive. Most of all, Varric has a warmth about him that welcomes people in. He doesn’t hide, he stands out in the open and draws attention to himself. In that sense, we are complete opposites.

I know what it is to lie, cheat and steal, I’ve slept around like a whore, people have died because of the information I gathered. If that isn’t bad enough, I’m only just starting to understand remorse for all of those things. Some Herald of Andraste that makes me…

Unfortunately, because of that, there is no going back to hiding in the safety of the pitch black. I’ve been put on a pedestal before the masses and sold like a commodity: here is your Herald, here is your miracle, come join us and know you have the Maker’s blessing! This ‘blessing’, this freakish hand that glows green, quite literally pierces every darkness. There is no more hiding now.

The question is, will I burn in the harsh light or will my eyes adjust? Being in the dark was a lot simpler.


	5. Light

Cole always does this creepy shit where he peers into your mind, pulls out pieces of memories and feelings (if, unlike me, you have those) and exposes them for others to see. Actually, it’s creepy AND irritating. I appreciate that he helped save me from that Envy demon, I really truly do, and I know he means well, but that sprit…boy…thing…needs to get a filter. Based on the horrified expression on Blackwall's face when he heard Cole singing that old Mockingbird song, I'd say I'm not the only one who thinks it.

I’d be lying though if I said it didn’t pique my curiosity. Sue me, I’m your basic, average dwarf with zero connection to the Fade save this absurd “anchor” on my hand, and part of me still wants to understand how a spirit thinks. I wanted to know what he saw in me when he looked inside. One afternoon I found him hanging around in the attic of the Herald’s Rest and casually asked him.

“You’re too bright,” he told me. “Like counting birds against the sun. The mark makes you more, but past it…” It was all I got. Great, so my anchor screwed me over again, denying me a reading this time…  
But it bothered me all the rest of the day, and into the evening as I tried to roll over and fall asleep. Am I bright as the sun, or is it just the mark that makes me so? Was there anything past it, and if so, why hadn’t he told me? Really, what IS me and what is this Herald the mark created? So many questions bouncing around in my head keeping me awake, and gradually they morphed into declarations of annoyance. Dammit, if anyone is too bright, it sure isn’t me; I’m the darkness the Inquisition likes to gloss over whenever possible even though I’m the fricking Inquisitor! Light is good, warm, kind…all things I am not. Cole must be crazy, possibly even blind, to even suggest such an idea.

And furthermore, how can I be too bright for Cole to peer into when he is surely the most radiant one in all of Skyhold? He has a purity that can only come from someone who has not spent time on this earth. Hell, some days I’m afraid to even talk to him lest I corrupt him with my own darkness.

The more I think, the angrier I become at the unfairness of it all. I’ve realized now why I avoid him: his light is so strong it can reveal every secret of mine in even the darkest recesses of my heart. Then he could reveal it to others, or worse, take pity on me. I don’t want his help. I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself without some freak spirit-boy-thing intervening.

His light is also something I cannot understand. I wonder if I was ever that pure, or had I already been tainted from birth? How can anyone be so genuinely kind and helpful given how cruel and selfish people are? I’m much more likely to punch them in the face the moment they show their ugly nature than bite my tongue and say something nice.

In the end I laid there for at least another hour, cursing the light from my hand and the light from Cole for keeping me awake.


	6. Memory

What a bizarre sensation, plucking up your own memories from the ground as if they were precious stones on the path. Each one helps you fill in the blanks within your own mind even as you grasp them in your hand. We stole them from the fear demons that guarded them, tearing them asunder to retrieve them. Seriously, fuck the Fade, this place is filled with the weirdest shit I could never have imagined. I believe the expression is ‘not in your wildest dreams’, but it’s not like I have those.

The thing about these memories, they were never crucial to me. Other than being a bit annoyed when I had no good answer to give Cassandra and company the day they found me in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I haven’t dwelt on them. Sure, it would have been nice to have definitive reasons for why I was not the Maker’s Chosen when they kept insisting I must be, but this is about what I had expected had happened.

Cassandra was not nearly so calm about the whole thing. Each time a memory was restored, she saw it too. She saw the terror on Divine Justinia’s face, shaking her to the core. She saw Corypheus, saw me enter the room completely unaware of the gravity of the situation, saw me grab the orb that rolled on the floor and the power that came from unleashing it accidentally. Even I had to feel a bit bad for her. She wanted, possibly needed to believe that this whole ordeal had been the work of Andraste to give herself comfort. If I had her blessing, then there was hope that the world could be saved. Now there was no denying the truth: I was just a spy who wandered into some magical ritual and got powers which were completely undeserved and unplanned.

“We must keep going,” she declared, straightening up and clenching her jaw like she does when she is resolved to push forward, to hell and back. That was what I’d expect from the Seeker, even as shocked as she was at this moment.

As we went, Justinia’s sprit (or honestly maybe just a random spirit who looked like Justinia), explained how taking back these memories would weaken the demon’s power. Apparently he fed off of the fear he stole from others, but that made about as much sense to me as anything else in this bizarre hell-hole. It actually sounded like a GOOD thing he was doing, taking those memories and erasing the fear from people’s minds. Hell, if he wasn’t being used as a minion for Corypheus, and if we weren’t trapped here in his playing field, I’d say let him keep at it! Not that I’d admit that openly in front of the others…

With each frightened dreamer we found and attempted to aid on our path, the more I was convinced. Each clung to a reminiscence of fear that haunted them even in this next existence. Taking those memories would be a blessing. People may say it is a sin to want your memories taken from you, but those people are probably the ones that have good memories tied into the bad that they aren’t willing to let go. If that Nightmare wants all my bad memories, he can take them. Hell, he can take every memory of my entire 32 years, leave me with amnesia and a clean slate, and I would gladly consort with a demon even if they call it blasphemy. There wasn’t enough good to even remotely counter everything bad or worthless.

In the end, I only gained memories, didn’t lose any. They made things a lot more complicated, too, like knowing the Wardens were involved alongside Corypheus. How was it possible to feel so much heavier with only an extra few hours of recollection in my brain?


	7. Innocence

My least favorite job as Inquisitor is when I am forced to put on that gilded, pompous armor and sit on that disproportionately-large throne to judge some prisoner in front of a crowd of vultures. Honestly, what part of having me pass judgements even remotely makes sense? I’d just as easily be on the other side. Without fail, if there is an option to have someone else more fit judge them, I go with that and pass the responsibility. If my advisors call it an effort at fairness, they are full of bullshit; I’ll be the first to tell you I just don’t want to do it.

I know a lot of people whisper amongst themselves that I am too soft in the verdicts I do pass down despite my rough personality. Only once has anyone actually been killed by my orders, and even Cole, the spirit of Compassion, called him an asshole. They never end up in prison either. It seems like a waste when they all have ways to repay debts. When I think about the punishment for their crimes, all I can do is ask one thing: how innocent are they?

That’s right, I don’t ask about guilt. They are all guilty of something, usually very big somethings if it is being brought to me (well, except for that goat-chucking Avaar, but his exile to Tevinter weighed down with weapons proved to be hugely entertaining…). We all know I’m guilty of many things too. Hell, I’d wager even each of my companions has something they’ve done that could be seen as illegal to some degree. I guess that’s why I weigh the innocence instead. If there is enough innocence, there can be redemption.

Some of these prisoners actually had good intentions for their outwardly evil actions. For all the hate people threw at the Mayor of Crestwood, I secretly admired him for making the tough decision that ultimately saved his village. Exiling him was just a way to save him from the wrath of people too involved in the incident to be forgiving.

Some prisoners knew they had done something awful and begged for an appropriate punishment. I would have spared her, but hearing Ser Ruth’s pleas, I instead allowed her to choose her own fate, deciding on a manner of death fitting for her order in the Deep Roads. That may have seemed like something cruel, but even I could see the peace it brought her to know she would die for her comrades and her cause to pay back for her betrayal. That peace was the reward for her innocence.

Some of the prisoners have very little innocence. I don’t know how to find anything good about Florian to this day. Putting her to work as a laborer seemed the worst thing I could possibly do to that arrogant, self-serving bitch. Her claws are gone now that Corypheus has dropped her and everyone knows her secret conspiracies, it’s not like letting her live would endanger us. Best of all, she can continue to live in misery, suffering for that very arrogance that led her to commit such crimes.

And of course, one prisoner in particular worked for years atoning for his crimes on his own before they were discovered and he was imprisoned. It didn’t make his guilt any less, for what he did years ago and the little things he continued to do, but the staggering amount of innocence I saw in his eyes as he stood before me was undeniable. You can read it in the pain the person wears, the weight they carry on their shoulders. I knew it was enough innocence for redemption when paired with the actions that speak louder than any spoken lie.

He earned my pardon, and my love.


	8. Crossroads

It’s time for me to decide how I’m going to play this.

I had made it abundantly clear that I was not with this fledgling Inquisition by my own choice. They may say I could walk away, but I don’t believe for a second they’d let the only known means of closing those rifts leave their control. It sure wasn’t worth testing those waters, not when they had a small army... Besides, where was I going to run back to? The Carta? Shit, even that cranky Seeker has to be better than going back to the boss… Until things get worse, at least I have a roof over my head and food (meager as it is, it’s no worse than what I’m accustomed to). As long as they don’t start bowing and calling me the Herald of Andraste I can survive. It’s what I do.

Problem is, more and more people are calling me the Herald of Andraste. My first instinct is to stare them down and demand whether I LOOK like a Herald of Andraste. Sadly, they’d probably just shake their heads ‘no’ without a moment of hesitation and then spout something about how the Maker works in mysterious ways. I’ve been denying it since the beginning, but heaven forbid they listen to the dwarf, not when it contradicts what they want to hear. Now, thanks to their stubborn ‘faith’, the Chantry wants my head on a platter for being a heretic.

That’s why I got dragged out here to the Crossroads of the Hinterlands. It’s a war zone, but there was a Chantry mother who apparently could help, provided she didn’t get herself killed in the skirmishes first. Mother Giselle was…not what I expected. Fairly liberal as far as these religious freaks go. I’ve had enough experience reading people to know that her motives are not entirely selfless, but she doesn’t pretend to have the viewpoints people want to hear. She advises we meet with the Chantry after gaining influence. Help some people around the Crossroads, help the Inquisition get a good reputation so they don’t walk into a conference looking like a bunch of lawless rogues. Never mind the fact that I AM a lawless rogue!

And that’s why I need to make a decision. The decision is not whether I will be the Herald; people have already made that decision for me, and apparently expressing my own opinion does nothing to change that. The decision is not whether I will help here at the Crossroads; if I want to save myself, I have to do it. The only choice I have now is to figure out why I’m going to do it. Self-preservation? Because it’s easier to go with the flow than fight it?

Having met with Corporal Vale and discussing several possible projects, we are moving through the run-down village to find those spear-heading the efforts. After our last battle with the rogue mages and Templars, the people are starting to emerge from hiding. I can’t help but see the fear etched on their faces first and foremost. Then I see the dark circles under their eyes from lack of sleep, gaunt figures from lack of food, tattered clothes that look damn near useless once night falls. The children are so overwhelmed they don’t even make a sound, and even the adults just murmur as if they haven’t got the energy for more. Quite honestly, they look pathetic. 

I’ve seen plenty of surface dwarves in that position; if you’re not in a merchant family or useful to the Carta, that’s about what you can expect. I’d always pitied those dwarves, because even though I envied their freedom, at least I had a sort of security they probably dreamed of. Never thought I’d see so many humans brought that low. Never thought I’d feel the same kind of pity for them too.

Surely as we’re running about closing rifts we could kill a few goats and chalk it up to stealth training, or steal a few supply caches and call it weakening the enemy. They don’t need to know that I’ve decided I want to help of my own free will.


	9. Happiness

With all of us sitting around the table in the upper story of the requisition building, I get that feeling for the first time. It’s warm, soothing, and it feels like I could get drunk off of it. I’m pretty sure it’s not the temperature, the fire doesn’t do THAT much against the biting mountain winds in this drafty building. And yeah, we’re all pretty squished around that table so everyone can be dealt in, but the warmth isn’t from that either. It’s coming from within, I’m fairly certain.

I look around out of the corner of my eye. Sera and Thom are sharing barbs and snorting choked back laughter. I love hearing him laugh and mean it more than almost anything, and Sera’s unbridled giddiness makes me smile too despite myself. What a weird pair those two make! Meanwhile, Varric is trying to weave another farfetched story to Cassandra, who may be rolling her eyes but never makes a move to stop him. We all know she enjoys Varric’s stories, even the non-romantic ones. Dorian and Bull are not-so-subtly flirting, and all their clever innuendos are flying right over poor Cole’s head, who looks positively baffled. Meanwhile, Josie is trying to reexplain the rules of Wicked Grace to Cullen, who was finally convinced to lay down his duties for the evening and play a game he hasn’t attempted in years.

Sure, there are a few not present tonight, but for the most part it is everyone I care about most. The drink has been flowing, we’re full from a great dinner completely noble-free, and there is no one to interrupt us here. I honestly don’t know what would make this moment better. 

And then I realize that I’ve never had a moment this purely good. Maybe it’s that thing people call happiness. They seem to think that it is a feeling you wake up with and wear with you the rest of the day, but I disagree. I think it goes deeper than that. This certainly does. It almost makes my stomach turn thinking it won’t last, it will disappear like mist in the morning light, and no amount of grasping for it will bring it back. Can I burn it into my memory right now?

“My lady, you’re awfully quiet. What’s on your mind?” It’s Thom, leaning over to whisper in my ear so no one else notices. As always, he sees me. With a genuine smile, I shake my head and say that it’s nothing much, just lost in good thoughts. This seems to satisfy him, and he reaches under the table to give my hand a squeeze. 

He can’t hold on for long; Josie has begun to deal the cards, and I reach for them eagerly. I’d observed this game in the taverns where I was sent to spy, occasionally joining in to worm my way into a group, but this is the first time it was simply a game to be played with friends. And who knew, maybe if things continued to go well the way they have been, we will have more nights like this, all my friends and my lover together laughing and smiling and really truly happy.


	10. Rejection

What the hell was I thinking, admitting to my own feelings? I deserve to be standing here alone, my heart pounding painfully so it drowns out all other sounds in my ears, face burning in embarrassment to the tips of my ears, stomach churning in anxiety the way it never does even when faced with a dozen enemies. I feel weak and helpless and just so stupid. I feel like I want to cry though I will fight that urge desperately. Why the fuck am I feeling all this now after not feeling anything for so long?

I’m almost dizzy, so I grab the edge of the battlements to stabilize myself as all kinds of thoughts rush through my head. I went there. This whole thing could have been avoided if I'd have just waited for him to make a move if he was interested. If he never did, then I’d know without words he didn’t want it and we'd both be spared this. Why would he want it anyhow? There’s nothing appealing about me! I’m sarcastic, rough, vulgar and ugly. How could I have ever dared to think that he could…

It’s starting to overwhelm me, so I draw in deep breaths and pinch the bridge of my nose. How had this happened? I’m trying to remember the painful conversation, and pinpoint the moment I let slip that I would especially not want anything to happen to him if Corypheus attacked. He scolded me, told me I couldn’t afford such thoughts, and then…talk of duty, of having our own lives to lead. He says he cares for me, but then he practically scurried away down the ramparts to put distance between us. He looked so pained as he tried to explain why we just couldn't, but it’s probably because I put him in such an awkward position. I’m sure he didn’t like having to reject my implications just as I didn’t like being rejected. Oh shit, now we won’t know how to be in front of each other! I've just cost myself one of the closest people I've ever had!

Gradually, the despair turns to anger. It’s not at him. It could never be at him, the noble Grey Warden who’s more a hero than I could ever hope to be even with this stupid glowing hand. I’m angry at me. No, I’m furious at me. This is why getting attached to people was a huge mistake. Now I’m acting like some sappy damsel instead of shrugging it off and carrying on. I’m supposed to be strong! I’m supposed to be independent! Moping like this is a disgrace I will not suffer.

Doing my best to release the tension in my shoulders, I straighten up and march to the tower. I have things to do; like he said, I'm the Inquisitor. I’ll just make sure every one of those things is done while avoiding him until I can control myself. I’m sure he’d appreciate the space.


	11. Sorrow

Cassandra and I don’t always get along. That was evident from the moment I met her back in Haven, with her screaming at me about what I’d done to her beloved Divine even though there was no real proof. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that we both have fiery tempers, that we’re both so strong-willed and stubborn. It also might be the ways we are different, especially given her religious devotion and my lack thereof. Clashes of will spring up frequently, it’s just expected by now.

Despite all that, we aren’t enemies. Hell, I suppose I’d even call her a friend. Sure it was awkward at first when we were thrown together for the same cause, but as we got to know each other while keeping our minds open, we certainly found enough common ground. There’s also the respect we can’t help but share for the strength and conviction in the other. Cassandra may not be the first person I’d run to for help, but I think I’d tell her eventually.

The thing was, I didn’t realize that about our relationship until Caer Oswin.

The whole thing started when she came to me asking for help locating the missing members of her order, the Seekers of Truth. Cassandra’s definitely the type of person to take care of things for herself, so the fact that she asked made me realize this was very important to her and a very serious threat. Of course I agreed to it. I went with her, Blackwall and Cole to the last place they’d heard of the Lord Seeker, only to find the worst possible news.

Knowing your comrades were dead would have been bad enough, but Cassandra had to hold her younger mentee in her arms as he lay dying, seeing the torment he’d been forced to endure before succumbing to the corruption of red lyrium overtaking his body. The look on her face as she mercifully ran her blade through him to end his suffering was more than just sad. It held regret, too, and defeat. Profound pain. I may be insensitive as a general rule, but even I’m not so heartless as to brush off that kind of sorrow. We all made lame attempts to console her, but thankfully she was more focused on making the Lord Seeker pay than to our pathetic words. How can a person say anything to help in a moment like that? The attempt is about all you can make.

Then to make things worse, that bastard Lucius gave her the secrets of the order, dark secrets higher-ups kept from their underlings. The divine purpose she had believed to have was rotted away. Killing him was not even satisfying after all he’d done to her.

Normally Cassandra is the spitting image of resilient, probably to a fault. This time it took her several days to get remotely back to normal, though even then you could see her thoughts were somewhere else. I knew then that I wanted to keep Cassandra from ever feeling that again. I even made the effort to speak with her about her plans for the Seekers even though I HATE talking about anything related to religion. I could see some of the sorrow lift from her features as her plan started to take shape, and it was well worth the sacrifice.

I may not care for religion, but I think that Cassandra’s new order will be alright. She will always remember Caer Oswin, Daniel, and everything wrong with her old order. She won’t let the Seekers slide down that dark path again. She’s seen the terrible cost.


	12. Scar

The scar across my right eye is hardly subtle. For one thing, the scar tissue runs through to my eyebrow, leaving a thin line where the hair no longer grows. It’s dark too; you can see it from across a room as it trails down to my cheekbone. It had been a deep cut, and I’m lucky to still have my eye. Of course, until now I’d never thought of myself as being lucky for that glaring blemish.

The scar changed my life. It was an outward sign of my criminal activities, and for a spy, it made my work all but impossible. No normal citizen gets a wound so clearly from a dagger… I could no longer be an agent dealing with targets head-on. No more persuasion, no more trying to worm my way into their lives to get what I needed out of them, no more seduction. Not even an idiot would mistake me for an innocent with this thing branding my face. Boss made that very clear to me when he changed my role within the Carta accordingly and then proceeded to claim me as his personal fuck toy.

The scar forced me into a life of living in the shadows then. I could no longer openly walk up to targets, but had to learn how to sneak in and out without being caught. Even as a child I’d developed quick hands, but this job took it to a higher level. I snuck into the highly guarded Conclave to get the gossip, and that certainly didn’t end the way I’d expected. I guess I wouldn’t have been assigned that job without the scar, so Thedas had better damn well paint it into all my Inquisitor portraits…

The scar of course made it difficult once I was in the Inquisition. It reminded everyone of what a criminal I had been. Not even Josie could hide that secret when my very face declared it without a word. Visiting dignitaries would consciously look at a point behind my head when speaking to me so as not to stare at it. Fricking hypocrites, as if Andraste hadn’t had any blemishes growing up as a slave and a warrior! Not that it hurt my feelings of course; I reveled in the idea that I was making them as miserable as they were making me. And maybe, if all the saints in their stupid chapels were pristine, they would forget the idea that I was this supposed savior. It would have suited me just fine.

I didn’t really consider the scar again until I met The Iron Bull. He hadn’t been as fortunate as I was, and an eyepatch on his left side made his visual deficiency clear. That never seemed to bother him, not even when Cole would make innocent observations about his blind spot in battle. His missing eye was just part of who he was, and he didn’t think twice about it. If anything, it was a happy memory for him, reminding him of the day he met Krem. Well, I couldn’t claim my accident had been a happy circumstance like saving someone’s life, so maybe that was why I couldn’t embrace it the way he could.

Only one other person reminded me constantly of it, though I know he didn’t mean to. Every single time Thom called me ‘My Lady’, I rejected the name internally because no one with a face like mine was a lady. At first it felt like a sick joke, like he must be mocking me. Thom was always a serious man, though. Perhaps he was just blind… It wasn’t until much later, when we were both coming clean to each other after his trial, that I admitted to him how I’d gotten the hideous gash marring my face. I finally admitted to him that I didn’t believe I was beautiful. I’d been told for years that I was not.

As long as I live, I’ll never forget the way he kissed that scar tenderly and told me it was a sign that I’d survived a harsh life. That the scar MADE me beautiful. For the first time since the day that enemy spy took a swipe at me and grazed my face, I believed it might be at least a little bit true.

Now, if I ever find a depiction of me without that diagonal slash, I will personally add it. It is a part of my story that I will not allow to be omitted.


	13. Pain

It took a long time for me to wrap my head around where I was and what had happened. As soon as the realization kicked in, I decided I was probably better off blissfully disoriented. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dimly lit cavern and my vision cleared from the blow of the landing, I became acutely aware of just how much my entire body hurt. Ribs, shoulders, wrist, hips…and nothing worse than my neck. Each movement no matter how small triggered a wave of pain that coursed through my body from head to toe. Of course, if I didn’t start moving soon, the cold that burned my exposed skin would dull the pain before killing me entirely.

“Fuck!”

Gritting my teeth, I struggled to my hands and knees, unable to fully raise my head. The fall had certainly done a number on me. How lucky I’d crashed through some brittle boards and broken through into the concealed tunnel system I’d heard so much about during our stay here. From some crazy dragon cult, full of traps was what Leliana had said. Hmph, that’s the least of my worries now. Looking down as I was forced to, I realized the snow had absorbed some of the impact. Probably saved my life. Well, at least saved me from instant death. It might still kill me if I stay here long enough.

And why shouldn’t it? I have no more role to play. My job was to seal the breach, and we accomplished that. The fact that some crazed red lyrium monster playing god wants to take over the world really isn’t anything I could help with, not even with my cursed hand. If I’d even entertained that thought, it was crushed when he easily grabbed me by the wrist (oh yes, that’s why my right one hurts more than the other…) as if I were a ragdoll and dangled me there. All I managed to do was misdirect him long enough to fire a trebuchet and send the avalanche that swallowed Haven. One of the last things I noticed was him escaping on some dragon, so I know for a fact I didn’t manage to kill him.

Everything hurts so much. From even this slight effort my body groans under the strain. I’ve been trained to withstand a good deal of pain, so this really must be something. I shouldn’t even get my hopes up and try to escape. There’s no way I’ll make it even if I can get on my own two feet and walk these abandoned corridors. No one will find me even if I find the way out. They all believe me dead, I’m sure of it.

Honestly, I’m THIS close to collapsing back down and letting death take me. Life has been nothing but misery when I’ve felt anything at all. I won’t be missed, I’ll be free of it. But there’s a small voice inside of me declaring that to be a lie, and I know why. There was a tiny part, right here at the end of it, that was not all bad. Maybe if I’m being honest, it was actually vaguely good. But surely that wouldn’t be enough of a reason to drag on this suffering.

But it was no good. Was I too stubborn to give in to the situation? Were my survival instincts too powerful to deny? Or was it the thought of sitting around a fire with Varric and Bull, Sera and Blackwall? And when I remember Blackwall, I remember the look of horror on his face when we were separated. I don’t want to die if it would hurt him, it’s just that simple.

Heaving as heavy a sigh as I can manage with possibly fractured ribs and struggle to my feet, hissing at the pain but also grateful for the first time in my life that I am so short. One wobbly footstep in front of the other, clutching for the walls for support, I give it my all to tune out the pain as I’ve been taught and push forward. For them.


	14. Family

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to have children,” I venture timidly as I watch him work. There’s just something about it that makes me imagine him making toys for our own children instead of random strangers. Maybe even a cradle. Damn, what kind of biological instinct is that? 

At my words, he immediately sets down his chisel and pierces me with those stormy grey eyes. “I did. And you said maybe. I wasn’t sure either. But a lot has happened since then, hasn’t it?”

It truly has. Thom could never be content to settle down with me until he had completed his quest for forgiveness from each and every one of his surviving soldiers. It was done now, and we were able to live together as husband and wife the way we both desired. The Inquisition was no more, so we built a simple homestead out in the Hinterlands, far from the burdens we had both carried for so long. We were finally free to be who we were and live as we wished.

Of course, the other noticeable difference was my lack of a left arm. Surprisingly, I don’t have any reservations about being a mother given this ‘handicap’. All things considered, the fact that Solas had to amputate my arm to save me from the mark was a small price to pay for all the near-death experience I’ve survived over the years. Besides, a Carta thug knows how to make do and improvise.

“Things have finally calmed down for us, even if they haven’t for the population at large,” I shrug.

“I have to wonder, would it be wise to bring a child into the world now?” I follow his eyes to the horizon, and I know he is thinking of Solas’s threat to remove the Veil.

“I won’t let him dictate my life, and even though you weren’t with me when we last crossed paths, I believe he has no ill will towards us. He’ll leave us be, and if his plans threaten our happiness, we are both capable of defending it.”

He seem unconvinced. “But if that child has to grow up in a world full of danger…”

Those words strike a chord within me, and I approach him to brush my hand against his bearded cheek. He senses my intent and leans down so I can reach. “You and I both have grown up in a world full of danger. We’ve known pain, but we’ve also both survived and grown stronger for it. I know any child of ours would be just as strong.”

This seems to ease his concern. “I suppose you are right, as you often are, love. But that aside, are you ready? You’d hesitated before, and I don’t want you to feel the pressure from anyone. I could be perfectly content either way, but you’re the one who’d have to give up even more…”

I start thinking out loud then. It’s an easy thing to do when I’m around him. He keeps me grounded. “The thought of having a family still terrifies me, Thom. But I know the reason is because I have no idea what a family is like, what it means to normal people. I grew up alone, and you know how messed up that made me until you and the others helped to fix me. I never knew it could be something I’d ever want, but now, with you, thinking of a life raising a child together, it gives me peace. I know I’ll mess up a lot, and as much as I love you, you’ll mess up a lot. Even still, I want…” And I pause, struggling to find the words.

I feel the familiar tickle of his facial hair on my forehead as he kisses me softly. “It will complete something within you, won’t it?”

“I want to know what a mother’s love is,” I admit, sinking into his body. His arms wrap around me like I knew they would. “And I want to see what a father’s love is like. Would you support this? Would a child make you happy?” I draw back to find the honesty in his eyes.

“I’d be scared too. Scared of not being enough. Scared I don’t know what to do. Scared of ruining our son or daughter. But you know, you’ve given me the courage to do a lot of things I’d been afraid of, and it’s true I can see that future for us bringing nothing but happiness. Yes, yes I’d like to be a father.” His confession seems to leave him breathless, like he’s just taken the plunge off a cliff. “But only if you are the mother.”

“Then we’ll be a team!” I smile, taking his large, rough hand in mine and squeezing in affirmation. “I wonder, would now be a bad time to get started?”

Thom barks out a laugh. “I suppose I have no objections to that, my Lady. But before we do that…can we get that dog like we talked about?”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Tomorrow, we can go to Recliffe and find a mabari pup. Better practice parenting skills on the dog first!”


	15. Clouds

“Hey, Inky, you ever look for shapes in the clouds before?” Sera’s voice is lilting, no doubt due to the several bottles of ale she’s smuggled from the cellars before leading me up here on the roof of the stables. How she managed in her tipsy state must be some of that elven grace she would vehemently deny having. Of course, I’ve had the same amount as her, but I hold my liquor much better given my greater body mass.

I snort at this absurd suggestion. “You really think the Carta’d let me take an hour off to stare at the clouds?”

“Eh, true I guess. But…not even after you left?”

Her persistence is puzzling. “No. It never occurred to me. Everything I do is for survival. This hardly seems important.”

“Inky, you really need to slow down a bit and enjoy life.” Sera sprawls out on her back, stretching on the warm roof like a cat basking in the sun.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there hasn’t exactly been a whole lot to enjoy,” I mutter flatly, tilting my head to frown at her.

“You’re here now though, aren’t you? That must mean you want it to change, right?”

It means I wanted to hide from my council before they found more stupid jobs for me to do.”

“You wanted to get out of work and relax! See, we’re making progress!” Sera flashes a grin before sitting up and pushing my shoulders back so I too am facing skyward. “Come on then, tell me what you see?”

I scowled and squint in the bright light. They look like fricking clouds. And it reminds me of something that pisses me off. “I see the sky, which every human I’ve ever met seems to think I’ve never seen before just because I’m a dwarf. Like, for fuck’s sake, have they never heard of a surface dwarf? We’re not all that uncommon.”

“Oh, so it makes you pissed. Hmm…” Sera hums thoughtfully while kicking her feet about haphazardly. “If it helps, Denerim was a real shit-hole. Alienages, corruption, rot and poverty and lots and lots of shit. Literally. Don’t they have any better ways to keep the city clean?” Her nose wrinkles at the memory of the stench. “But when I climbed up on top of the roof, I was above all of it. The sky was fresh and bright and it felt like freedom. And the clouds were a lot prettier to look at than people. I still like to do it once in a while. With all this insanity going on, it slows things down for a little while, yeah?”

We fall into silence for a good few minutes, only interrupted by her perpetual fidgeting. Finally, I relent. “I guess that one over the gate looks like a rabbit infected with red lyrium if you squint…”

Sera cackles in triumph. “Have you noticed that the one right next to it looks like a giant dick?”

I snort again, but this time, in amusement. “For a lesbian, everything is male genitalia with you.”

“Weird, right?” She cackles again and reaches over to crack open another ale. “Want one?”

“Sure.” I shrug and accept the beverage. Clinking the bottles together in a mock toast, we lay back and continue this strange pastime. It still feels idiotic to me, but I must admit it is relaxing. The company isn’t bad either.


	16. Water

I feel (and probably look) like a drowning bogfisher. Well, provided the bogfisher has a wig of short, sopping silver hair to go with those squat, homely features. My hair is currently funneling even more rainwater into my eyes to the point where I am half blind, and I sort of anticipate taking a tumble down the rocky slopes of the Stormcoast with each precarious step. What a way for the Herald of Andraste to go…could Josie even turn something like that into a decent, dignified obituary? All I can do without stopping to actually remedy the situation and holding up the group is to continuously wipe my face with my sleeve (soaking wet, it hardly does any good) and try to focus on the lumbering form of Blackwall in front of me. He seems so sure of his movements up and down the steep terrain, and the rain hardly gave him pause at all. Actually, it doesn’t seem to slow down Sera or even the ever-refined VIVIENNE. Damn it, why am I the only clumsy, ugly bogfisher in the group?!

The funny thing was, I didn't even known what a bogfisher was until two weeks ago when we’d battled the Avaar of the Fallow Mire. Carta business meant going where the money was, and it sure as hell hadn’t been in that putrid, backwater swamp. Given the fact that the entirety of the fishing village formerly located there had been decimated by plague and the undead, it seemed nature agreed with me that it was no place fit for human life. I remember how ecstatic I had been to leave once the fear for my scouts’ safety had been assuaged. I also recall being dead-set against slogging through muck and torrential downpours again any time in the next five years. Somehow, I've ended up here in a place that actually had the word ‘storm’ in its name. The chill goes right to my bones the same way it had before despite my natural ‘insulation’. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, Inquisitor,” Blackwall observed without turning around.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking about. I’m well aware of that old saying ‘if you can’t say anything nice’, so I’ll spare you the details. Besides, it would involve a great many expletives.”

Instead of backing away at my open bitterness, he gives a deep rumbling laugh. “I find the best and pretty much only way to power through these conditions is to think of the pleasant burn of the bottle of ale waiting for you at the end of it.”

“Ugh, what about getting out of your wet things and crawling under a pile of twenty blankets?” Sera adds with the tinge of a whine. “With the bottle of ale, of course.”

“Or, you can remember why you are here and focus on the mission at hand.” Vivienne’s condescending voice from the front of our formation makes the entire rest of the party scowl behind her back. While true, I'm not going to be made to feel better with the thought of helping others. I am selfish, and I know this and accept this about myself. I much prefer the thought of ale, blankets and a roaring fire.

Looking up so the strands of hair plastered to my face fall away, I give the gray sky an evil eye and internally curse the cold and wet. If I never have to deal with this again, it would be too soon.

A month later, as I stand atop a dune and scan the barren landscape of the Hissing Wastes under the scorching sun, I remember those words and regret them immensely.


	17. Earth

My race built its home deep beneath the earth. Why they picked such a bizarre place to build a civilization is beyond me, but to this day those pompous asshats in Orzamarr cling to their subterranean city as the last ones standing. Darkspawn took away the other thaigs, cities, mines and deep roads, at least that’s what the historians claim, but still they stubbornly fight back. If it were up to me, I’d just as soon give up trying to live down there and let the darkspawn keep it.

Of course, as a Surfacer, I could never possibly understand why they stay. Besides being fully adapted to living topside, unafraid of the sky or the sun or the rain, or quite frankly even the Breach hanging over us, it came at the cost of some kind of Stone Sense. Dwarves that have it can find their way more easily in tunnels? Whoopee, big deal. The Stone makes them strong and they return their strength to it when they die? Last time I checked that was called decomposing. Still, I hear that the Orzamarr dwarves look at us Surfacers with pity, like we’re missing out on something so important. How important can it be when you’ve lived your whole life without it? 

It occurs to me suddenly that I sound just like Sera when you press her about anything regarding elves. An involuntary snort escapes.

From behind me comes Blackwall’s confused voice. “What’s so funny up there?”

He’s right to be confused. By all accounts we should be completely dour at this point, having just encountered the remains of those who drowned in these caves underneath Crestwood during the Blight. Indeed, I had felt a wave of panic just thinking about being trapped beneath the earth as the water came pouring in. It’s just that…

“I was just thinking about how my ancestors lived down here of their own choosing,” I respond evenly, casting an accusing eye at the strips of shiny mosaic shards running along the tunnel’s walls. After countless centuries of decay, the greatness of my distant ancestors could still be seen. “Passing through tunnels like these, designed by their own hands. It’s impossible for me to understand. It feels like a prison! And hell, for those poor blighted sods, it was, wasn’t it?”

I stopped it there, unwilling to say anything more, but Cole continued my thoughts aloud. “Dark, dank, always closing in, stone walls and old ways. Trapped by that which rejects me, wishing, needing a breath of fresh air over the Marches. Freedom.”

I heave an exasperated sigh without turning to look back. Cole meant well, and he had helped greatly in gathering information about the entire Crestwood disaster with his intuition, but saying I am a private person would be an understatement. He seems to have no concept of personal space, not even when it comes to head space. Blackwall senses my discomfort.

“I can’t say I enjoy the experience either. The sooner we seal this rift, the better.” I am grateful he makes no mention of anything beyond what came out of my mouth.

“And who knows,” Solas adds, interjecting for the first time, “perhaps with the interference of the breach nullified the sky will clear. We shall see.”

When we finally feel the draft of cool air after completing our mission, I feel like a man dying of thirst who has finally felt cool drops of water against his skin. So close, so close... And throwing open the door of the cave system, and hurrying through the slippery limestone passages to the mouth of the cave, I can see the light of the sun.

I don’t even care that we are immediately engaged in another battle to seal a rift as soon as we step out. At least we are shedding blood on meadows of lavender.


	18. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veil fire is all kinds of wrong to a Carta dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just going to imagine that Solas didn't pretend to have never seen veilfire before, because we all know that's b.s.

“Hold, Cadash.” I had brushed past the entrance to the ruins, not trusting the black void beyond and needing to investigate. Probably more demons about to pop out. Solas, however, had other ideas. He was studying a brazier hanging on the wall of the entranceway, eyes squinted in thought.

“Too bad we don’t have a fire right about now. Some light would really help,” I mutter, craning my head to see if there is even any oil left in the lamp. There’s nothing that I can see.

“I believe I have a solution. Give me just a moment.” Solas focuses on the brazier in a way where even I can feel the crackle of energy surrounding him. He makes some strange motion with his hands, and in the blink of an eye, translucent green flames spring to life. Except there is nothing for them to consume for fuel. How the fuck…

“What IS that?” I point warily, taking a few steps away from this demon fire that is the entirely wrong color. “That’s not like any fireball I’ve ever seen. No smoke. No oil or wood to burn…”

“Veilfire,” he says simply, as if that should be sufficient. When my brows knit in annoyance, he adds to it. “An old elvhen art.” Wow, I should have guessed as much. I bet his next line will be how he knew about if from his vacations to the Fade…

Mihris approaches and studies the flame with keen interest. “I had heard of such magic, but the techniques have long been lost to us. I wonder if you would demonstrate how you achieved this once we have-“

“You would take advice from a ‘flat-ear’?” Solas raised an eyebrow pointedly, and I did my best not to snicker as Mihris flinched away, her misjudgment against him rubbed like salt into the wound. The Dalish looked down on most anyone outside their clans, I had come to understand this from my wanderings in the Marches, but watching them fight amongst each other was hugely entertaining. Wait, scratch that. The Dalish were not “Solas’ people”.

“In any case, Inquisitor, would you like to hold the torch?” Solas reached down to grab a neglected torch, again bereft of any flammable surface, as if designed for just such a nature-defying phenomena. 

I continue to eye the dancing flames warily. “Does it burn the person who touches it like normal fire does?”

“Not at all,” he assures, but instead of making me feel better, this actually makes me even less trusting. Fire that doesn’t burn, it sounds like someone made a pact with a demon for it. I shake my head violently and take yet another step back. “Fire with all the benefits and none of the disadvantages? That shit is just too unnatural. You can just hang onto that…Fade-fire.”

The disapproval is evident not only in Solas’s eyes, but in Mihris’s as well. Great, so THAT they can apparently agree on. “Very well.” He abruptly turns away and lights the torch. Now, that same creepy green light from the Veilfire is cast down the stone hallway before us. Wait, that’s like the same color as the mark on my hand. No wonder I hate it…

“So, one more thing…” I attempt. Solas faces me again, interested in whatever question I am about to ask. Perhaps I can be redeemed for my narrow-mindedness. “How do you put it out? I mean, you CAN put it out, can’t you? I’m not dealing with magic fire that burns forever.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Solas rolled his eyes in disgust. He turns his back on me to lead the procession of us through the halls of this ruin, leaving me to glower at the back of his shiny bald head. What does he fucking expect from me, a dwarf for whom a connection to the Fade is impossible? I swear, sometimes his head is so far up his ass he can’t understand anyone who doesn’t think like him.

Blackwall chuckles, clearly sensing my tension. Under his breath, he mutters “Be patient with him, My Lady. He’s a bloody brilliant mage, but he’ll need more time to figure out people, it seems. As for this ‘veil fire’…that is some weird shit, but he is able to command it, so we have no reason to fear.”

“You’re awfully confident,” I retort sullenly, but his assurance is already lowering my blood-pressure.

Again he chuckles. “I have to be, otherwise I’d get no sleep at night. Now, come on, or we’ll lose the only light source we’ve got.”

Before I could answer, my ears picked up the sounds of a scuffle ahead. Yep, there are the demons. I draw my blades, nod to Blackwall, and charge ahead. I guess a mystical magical light-source is better than being killed in the dark.


	19. Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I repurposed this from a sprint activity I did that was discontinued and so bothered me by sitting in my works at only 299 words long... Editing is back on the table!

How had this happened, exactly? She was currently being tossed and turned in absolute, disorienting silence, the former rush of water in her ears long since passed. Which way was up? It was so damn cloudy it was impossible to follow the light. And wait, wasn’t fat supposed to float? Maybe if she just let herself relax, she’d end up at the surface one way or the other…

But no, her body would not listen to reason. Each limb frantically flailed as if having a mind of their own, useless as the effort was. What the hell did she think was going to happen, that a dwarf was magically going to start swimming when plucked from dry land and deposited into the churning sea of the Storm Coast? Dwarfs, even surfacers, were definitely more at home on the ground than in water!

Her lungs started to burn now. Her thrashing only hastened the depletion of her oxygen, and blackness edged her vision, even as the salt assailed her eyes. What a way to go…

Suddenly, strong hands grasped her under her armpits and began hauling her in a direction she could only assume was up. A few powerful kicks from whoever this was and they were breaching the surface. “My Lady, are you all right?” Blackwall’s voice was urgent, strained from worry and fatigue as he struggled back to shore in a learned side-stroke.  
All she could do was cough some water from her lungs and gasp for air, which he took as a sign that she was alive and kicking. “You scared me,” he muttered under his breath. If he thought the crashing of waves would cover it, he was mistaken.

“Where’d you learn…to swim like that?” she sputtered.

“As a boy…in the lake…like they all do in the Marches…”

"Oh." There was momentary silence as he fought the waves towards the shore, still clutching onto her like she was a piece of luggage. How embarrassing... "Swimming isn't a common part of a dwarf's education, you see," she finally attempted lamely.

"Well then..." His feet finally hit bottom, allowing himself to catch enough breath to let out a chuckle. "I may have to teach you one of these days. It will be good for you to learn."

Blackwall? Teaching her how to swim? She was thankful her wet hair clung to a large portion of her face, hiding the blush.


End file.
